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<title>Four times Sam Barclay interrupted and one time he didn't. by FallingFaintly</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491434">Four times Sam Barclay interrupted and one time he didn't.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingFaintly/pseuds/FallingFaintly'>FallingFaintly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cosplay, Crack, F/M, Gen, I have no reasonable excuses for this, Interrupting Barclay, Strellaclay, Twix - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:14:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingFaintly/pseuds/FallingFaintly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Does exactly what it says on the tin. Just a bit of fun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Sam Barclay &amp; Robin Ellacott &amp; Cormoran Strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Four times Sam Barclay interrupted and one time he didn't.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you don't know what crack is, apologies, you're about to find out.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“If you shift it up on the left, I think it’ll slide in better,” said Robin from the back of the Land Rover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure it’s not just too bloody big?” Strike asked, the weight of it in his hands getting to the point of strain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m sure it’s going to fit perfectly, we just have to get the angle right,” Robin insisted, panting with the effort of adjusting herself inside the vehicle now she was a little cramped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Strike pushed again, and she jolted, her bum colliding with the blue interior side of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch it!” She chided sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Strike replied, stepping back to adjust his grip. “Up on the left, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Robin nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OK, you’ve got a better perspective than I do,” he said, exerting himself to fulfill her suggestion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> To his surprise, it slid in smoothly, and Robin let out a little squeal of triumph.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it in yet?” Barclay yelled from the doorway. “I can’t wait to see the back of that bloody noisy sofa!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> The two detectives stood looking at each other, Robin at the top of the staircase, Strike halfway down. She took a few tentative steps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really want me back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just driven for bloody hours with Shanker in what I strongly suspect is a stolen car. Of course I want you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shanker’s here? You should have brought him in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Strike dismissed the suggestion, and in a hug that sealed their sweet reconciliation, the thought flashed through both their minds that they could run away together, and hang the consequences. They drew back, Strike’s wounded and bruised face close to Robin’s picture perfect bridal make up. The air was thick with something heady and intense, and it seemed like they were leaning in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These vol-au-vents are braw, you two! Ye should definitely try some!” Barclay said from the top step.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The surveillance had been long and tedious, and now, under cover of darkness, Robin felt the closeness of Strike, and battled against thoughts that were completely inappropriate in a work setting. She imagined him kissing her, and as if he could read her thoughts, he turned his head towards her. They had been hiding for an age in this concealed spot, a bush in front of them, and a derelict building behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ok?” Robin whispered. “How’s the leg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S fine,” he replied, shifting his weight because it wasn’t really fine at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to sit down, go back to the car for a bit. This doesn’t need you to be here too, not really,” Robin insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to leave you here, it’s dark and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a big girl, Strike, I can take care of myself,” Robin replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that. Truth is, I’m just hungry,” he said softly, putting a placating hand on her arm, and there was something behind his eyes that spoke of another kind of hunger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How ‘bout a Twix?” Barclay said, popping up from the bush, holding a gold foil wrapper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He stood tall, the leather jerkin buttery soft against his broad form, a scruff of wild hair peeking out from the loose linen shirt underneath. A sword hung from a belt at his waist on one side, and a musket was looped on the other. Atop his head there was a hat, one side curled up, and a blue cloak hung round his shoulders, just covering a pauldron on the right side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look absolutely fuckin’ ridiculous,” Strike grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin, perched on the edge of her seat, was flustered enough to blush, and giggled to cover it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you look amazing. Re-enacting is definitely very you,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said you were going to come as a french maid?” He queried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Robin said, in a long green medieval gown, with a chemise underneath, her cleavage pushed into an appealing vista in front of him by a tightly laced bodice. “It’s a historical re-enacting society. I’m not the kind of french maid that has a feather duster,” she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A feather duster wasn’t my first thought,” Strike said with a glint in his eye. “I was more interested in the garter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin blushed again, and they held each other’s gaze for a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’m a very convincing cardinal, and this bloody great thing is gonna rip ma knittin if I have tae wear it all day!” Barclay announced as he swept in, wearing a long cloak and a dinky little skull cap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love being with you,” Strike said, entwining his fingers in Robin’s, relishing the feel of her so close to him, the scent of her perfume as intoxicating as the night he had first bought it for her. She pressed herself against him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It was finally happening</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, and she almost couldn’t believe the sheer physical reality of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise me this is for real,” she whispered against his lips, and he squeezed her hand, their mouths connecting in a heated intensity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> There was a sharp knock at the door. Strike pulled away, leaving Robin blinking. He opened it and Barclay strolled in. He fished a box out of his jacket pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here ye go, box of 32 ought to keep us goin’ fer a while,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good man,” Strike said, unbuckling his belt.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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